Dreams of Yesterday
by MentalMeander
Summary: A glimpse into the life of the Eleventh Doctor through the eyes of an outsider. Slight Ten/Rose


**A/N: Angst, angst, _ANGST_. Lots of it. Lovely! :) This is what happens when I rewatch Takin' Over the Asylum (If you haven't seen it go watch it _now_. It's absolutely brilliant, and you'll notice someone familiar!) and then watch Waters of Mars, which was amazing!!! The bit at the end when the Doctor snapped completely broke my heart. In my opinion it was definitely DT's best acting performance yet. Anyway, same old deal; hope you like it and please review! All feedback is appreciated!**

* * *

The Humane Sanctuary for Planetary Foreigners. That's what they called it in her letter of employment, but she knows, as does everyone else, what it really is. An asylum for aliens.

It's the late 21st century, and the Earth is full of them.

They fall from the sky, lost, terrified, and usually insane; the obvious evidence of a universe that just uses this tiny planet as a place to store its unwanted. No one knows what to do with them, so they're put here, stuffed away out of sight.

But _she_ can see them, sees them everyday when she works her shift. It isn't hard, she just talks to the few that can speak English. She plays games with the rest, or tries to tutor them in her language, helping them sound out the words of her name tag and beaming when manage to stutter "N-n-nurse" through their mouths, pincers, tentacles, or whatever they have in that specific spot.

It takes her a few days to notice him; he never talks, and rarely moves. He doesn't stand out; he looks perfectly human. He just sits in the corner by the window, staring out at the sanctuary's gardens.

He sits there, day after day, his features covered by dark, floppy hair which hangs over his face, his tweed jacket old and beaten, his bow tie undone. She never sees him in anything else, and no one asks him to change.

Every now and then she pulls a chair over and tries to talk to him, but she may as well be talking to a brick wall. His dark, ghostly eyes stare straight ahead, as if he's miles, no-years away. Sometimes she catches him muttering to himself, though. Nothing audible, just mouthing empty words into space like a mantra, unmoving, but clutching a worn photograph in a clenched fist at his side.

Those are his good days.

But on one day, just by chance, his mind wanders a bit too far, and when the patients are sent to bed, he leaves the picture on the table next to where he sits.

It's wrong, she knows, but as she leaves for the night she can't help but feel drawn to it, curious about what someone with nothing left would hold so tightly. Fingers tremble slightly as she reaches forward, and gently unfolds it. Tears spring to her eyes.

It's a girl. Young and innocent, only twenty at the least. She's leaning against a pillar of...coral? Yes, that must be it, as strange as it seems. She's laughing, tongue poking through her teeth and peroxide blond hair pulled into a loose ponytail as if she doesn't have a care in the world.

She wipes away a stray tear, and goes to smoothen out the picture so she can have a better look, but then stops herself. What was it her mother used it say? The oldest, most worn belongings are the ones we've given the most love. A wave of horror hits her, and she feels so...dirty for peering into the mind of this broken soul.

So she refolds it, and gently pushes it into her front pocket out of fear of damaging it, and makes her way to the patients' quarters.

And she softly walks down the hallways where the patients sleep.

And she pushes the door open, and makes her way to the bed where he lies.

And she sets the picture down lightly, trying not to notice the tears that make their way down his face as he sleeps.

And she leaves, still shaking as she lets her hair fall across her face so people won't notice the tears that linger on her cheeks.

* * *

Behind her a lost soul is left alone, trapped in his mind as he dreams. But oh, if you could see the things he dreams of...

He dreams of his friends. Thousands of faces, some belong to companions of his, some belong to people he saved. All of them so precious to him. All of them _so_ loved. All of them gone.

He dreams of _her_. The way she smiled. The way she cried. The way she laughed. The way she saved him from himself; dragged him back from the brink of self destruction and made him better.

He dreams of home. The planet with the burnt orange sky and the snow peaked mountains that shined in the light of the second sun. It's gone now, but still here, forever alive and prosperous in the haunted depths his mind.

He dreams of a man. A man in a pinstriped suit with a big smile and a bigger heart. Who would charge across the universe with a shout of "Allons-y", having adventures and getting into trouble no matter where he went.

He dreams of the days when he was free from him own undoing. He dreams of excitement and danger and laughter. He dreams of love and monsters and little blue boxes.

He dreams of the days when he was the Doctor.

* * *

**Thanks for reading! Reviewers get jelly babies, minus the babies. I live in Canada. We don't have them here. :(**


End file.
